


this sun will fade (and turn to night)

by theoddoodisnude



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Aaangst, Angst, Character Death, Child Death, F/F, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Warnings In The End Notes, please read them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoddoodisnude/pseuds/theoddoodisnude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes six and a half months for Steve to convince Tony to have kids. </p><p>Steve doesn't nag about it much at all, but he brings up the idea every once in a while. He prepares arguments that he never really uses -- because he'd never pressure Tony into anything -- but he does attempt to sneak them into conversations now and then. He feels guilty almost immediately afterwards, though, and he blushes and it's spectacularly adorable and quite forgiveable. </p><p>About the time it took, though; when you break it down, when Steve finally had the guts to introduce the idea to Tony, it took two weeks for Tony to take it seriously. Then another week to get Tony to stop freaking out and hide in the workshop. </p><p>That leaves five months and two weeks for Tony to process and accept the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this sun will fade (and turn to night)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wingmanofthelord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingmanofthelord/gifts).



> This is not my fault (entirely)! I blame my dear friend Sam - aka wingmanofthelord - who was chatting with me when the idea was born, I blame RDJ for being able to sing and I blame Ed Sheeran for writing beautiful songs.
> 
> Speaking of which, the title is a line from Meghan Tonjes song inspired by the book "The Fault In Our Stars". 
> 
> This turned out waaay longer than intended. Um. I. I started writing it before the Avengers even came out -- I've been working on it on and off for a while -- so movie!canon? Nope.
> 
> This is not beta:ed or anything and there are WARNINGS in the END NOTES. There are WARNINGS IN THE END NOTES and I urge you to read them. I repeat, 
> 
> WARNINGS IN THE END NOTES!
> 
>  
> 
> 18/10/15: I've been very stupid and inconsiderate in tagging and warning about this story, but I finally got my head out of my ass. This story contains the death of a child, and people dealing with it, hence grief.

It takes six and a half months for Steve to convince Tony to have kids. 

Steve doesn't nag about it much at all, but he brings up the idea every once in a while. He prepares arguments that he never really uses -- because he'd never pressure Tony into anything -- but he does attempt to sneak them into conversations now and then. He feels guilty almost immediately afterwards, though, and he blushes and it's spectacularly adorable and quite forgiveable. 

About the time it took, though; when you break it down, when Steve finally had the guts to introduce the idea to Tony, it took two weeks for Tony to take it seriously. Then another week to get Tony to stop freaking out and hide in the workshop. 

That leaves five months and two weeks for Tony to process and accept the idea.

It's not that Tony doesn't like kids, he's just... never spent time with them. And even disregarding that -- that children in general are not quite in his usual circle of acquaintances and Tony Stark has a very wide circle of acquaintances, there are very few people who have a wider circle than he has, seriously -- Tony's never imagined himself having kids. He's never been able to picture himself that domesticated or even that _lucky_ \-- he's never believed that he'd find somebody to have children _with_. Not that he's really ever wanted to find anyone, either, but to his horror he's found himself getting wiser with the years and sometimes things that last longer than a week can be paradoxically refreshing. 

With Pepper, there was a brief period of time, during their honey moon phase, when Tony let himself picture what it could be like; to let life slow down, to maybe get a kid or a dog or something along those lines. How strange it would be to lead such a peaceful and slow-paced existence... but then their whole relationship-thing went awry and Tony smothered the idea of ever having a family.

(Granted, the Avengers happened shortly after that and then he sort of -- weirdly -- mysteriously -- acquired a family. A family consisting of two assassins, a demi-god, a super soldier and a scientist that turns into an enormous, green, rage monster, but a family nevertheless. That's not even taking distant relatives with eyepatches or tazers into account. Because they definitely count, at least around Thanksgiving and at Christmas dinner.)

Another part of Tony's issues with children, is the inherent fear of himself. Howard might have been a good, charitable friend, inventor and scientist, but he was hardly a present, comforting figure in Tony's life. He was nonchalant at best, giving a nod here and there when Tony skipped forth a year or two and studied with kids three years his seniors. Howard Stark is one of many reasons Tony has daddy issues and control issues and does stupid things for attention, because, _oh, look, that was surprisingly unsmart for a genius, but the cameras are facing this way so I'd better smile._ Because at least they're looking.

Howard Stark cared more about his creations, his inventions, than he ever did about Tony. He even managed, years after he died, to make matters even worse, by telling Tony that he's his "best creation", like Tony is just another clever, handy invention -- _machine_ \-- to show off. 

So, yeah, Tony has issues -- a lot of them, really, but everyone's got issues -- but when it comes to kids, he's really just mostly afraid of turning into his father. To let the kid come in second, to make them feel unimportant, to just -- fail. Fail at what will decide who the kid will be forever, dear god. 

(Parents must constantly be under such pressure, wow, there's so much to think about; you've literally got a miniature human's life in your hands and what you do when you raise that tiny, tiny human being will determine who they become. And then they grow up and they change and they're hormonal and crazy and they rebel and they fall in love and there must be so many _feelings_ involved, the mere prospect of it all makes Tony dizzy.)

Tony knows he shouldn't underestimate himself, though -- he is Tony Stark, after all, but even if he frequently and loudly states the opposite, he's actually _not infallible_ \-- and he knows there are a lot of things to factor in when it comes to kids. He wouldn't be alone in it, of course, there'd be Steve -- ridiculous, doe-eyed, out-of-the-fairy-tale-comic-books Steve -- and Steve would know what to do. Steve's good at everything, even when ha has no clue what he's doing. It's equal parts annoying and reassuring.

So, it takes Tony six and a half months -- a lot of time spent sleepless, even moreso than usual -- but in the end he opens a private line over the comm when they're on a mission, and says, "If we get a girl, we should definitely name her Claire. I like that name, Claire. If it's a boy, we go with something that begins with P. Any name with P, really, like Patrick or Peter or Pontiac -- no, wait, cars. Sorry. Car. What about James? After, you know, your -- your James, not my James, because he's solely Rhodey, he goes by no other name. And I say James, because Bucky is a great nickname and all, real sweet, but no one actually names their kid Bucky, that would be cruel. Anyway -- maybe? Yes? No? We should definitely talk about that."

When they've defeated the Villain of the Week, Tony has just about time to land and take a step and a half, before Steve's on him -- ignoring Coulson and Fury and debriefing, for now, because he's Captain America and that he doesn't check up with Coulson and the rest of the team immediately speaks volumes in and of itself -- crowding him against a wall, in the middle of the street and all. Steve kisses Tony, hot and warm and soft and happy and just _everything_ and Tony knows he made the right choice.

\---

They get in touch with a few women, arrange meetings and exchange e-mails, but they know they've found the right one on their second meet-up. Her name is Emma, and she's just a little bit shorter than Tony, curvy, blonde and her brown eyes sparkle prettily. She's nice and funny and she seems reliable; she didn't just randomly see an ad and get in touch because she was desperate for money, but because -- Emma explains to them, carefully, mere minutes into their first meeting -- she believes in true love and she saw straight away what Tony and Steve share. She'd be happy to be their surrogate and help give them the "greatest gift in life - a child". 

(She's maybe a little weird, and sometimes she needs to think more before she speaks -- Tony can sympathise with that -- but Tony doesn't judge people for that, because he's a bit weird, too. And he _likes_ her, instantly, because she seems very bright and even if she rambles and laughs all the time, she's witty and _clever_. 

And, also, Emma does need the money -- she's not afraid to talk about them, she doesn't use the kiddy gloves when she talks about what's going to happen. She doesn't treat the whole business with a hush-hush air. She talks about the money very off-handedly, though, because she saw Tony kiss Steve's hand right before the meeting and that more or less settled it for her.)

Emma takes a couple of tests, naturally, and the results are as they should be and everything works out. They don't know whether Steve or Tony will be the donor, but neither one really cares whose child it will turn out to be, biologically, because this is not about the biological part. They've learned that family if far more than blood and they'll love the kid regardless.

\---

Early June, a month after Emma's been inseminated, she calls Tony -- because she's a perfectly nice, caring and empathic person like that -- and excitedly tells Tony that they've done it, she's pregnant.

They talk for about fifteen minutes -- Tony's not entirely sure about what they talk about, because it starts out with the successful pregnancy and then it turns into kids and baby strollers and then _motor-driven_ baby strollers, which somehow ends up with Tony explaining hydraulic motors and then Emma starts talking about the many uses of hair dryers -- before Tony hangs up. 

Then he puts the blowtorch away, sits down, buries his face in his hands -- oil-stained and all -- and starts laughing. 

He stays like that until Bruce comes down; Bruce starts saying something about lunch that Clint's prepared, but trails off when he notices that Tony's laughing. He tilts his head to the side and starts asking JARVIS what's wrong with Tony, but Tony interrupts him and says, "Dr Banner, you brilliant man, you -- could you go get Steve for me? I just-- I feel like we should already be fighting over who should be the godparents."

Bruce's face lights up -- nothing huge, it's not like flicking a switch and he's smiling manically like Tony does or Steve would; Bruce's facial expressions are like most things about him when he's not hulked out; mild, soft and subtle. So when his face lights up, his eyes become brighter and he smiles softly, happily, with his entire face -- as he understands what's just happened. He walks forth and claps Tony on the shoulder, "Congratulations, Tony. You deserve this," he pauses briefly, grins and adds, "Good luck with choosing godparents. And breaking the news to Fury."

Tony wrinkles his nose, "Fury knows about our plans, Steve talked to him before he even brought it up with me. Which, you know, is weird, because Fury is not supposed to know things about your private life before you do -- huh, I just realised that it must be hard for Barton, with Coulson and all. And there's a thought -- he'll want to be the godfather, won't he. Barton."

"Probably."

"Oh, wow, imagine him with a _kid_... Bruce, promise me you'll be on my side if Steve suggests Clint, because I do not want him anywhere _near_ my child, not to mention holding it or teaching it _things_ , oh god," Tony shakes his head. His hands are trembling slightly and he hasn't stopped smiling since he got off the phone with Emma, though. "Promise me, Dr Banner, promise me to be my trusty advocate and I shall make Hulk all the indestructible shorts he wants. I'll even make cartoon-themed ones and you know how he loves his cartoons."

Bruce chokes on a chuckle, and shakes his head as he turns to leave. "We'll see. I have to admit that it would be interesting to see Clint with a kid."

"Cartoon shorts!" Tony calls as Bruce leaves the workshop. "Think about it!"

\---

"I was thinking," Tony starts. He's lying on top of Steve, chin resting on his folded arms as he peers down at Steve. Tony will never get over all the perks of having a super soldier for a boyfriend -- being able to lie on top of him, like this, is just one of many; there's the strength and the stamina, too, and his healing abilities and also being good at everything. But being good at everything might be part of Steve's own skills, rather than the serum, actually. 

"Thinking? You?--" Steve cuts in, grinning. He's adorable like this -- hair ruffled, body relaxed, eyes soft. He's also quite naked, which, well, isn't so much _adorable_ as it is _hot_. Really, very, unmistakably hot, which is definitely one of those super soldier perks. 

"Oh, ha ha, quit it with the sarcasm, you're too genuine for it," Tony mutters, but he's grinning a little, too. 

"Anyway, I was thinking -- Steve, are you listening to me? Are you? Good. So, I was thinking -- don't give me that look, I'm getting to the point -- I was thinking that we could move to Malibu. When the baby comes," Tony clears his throat and his eyes flicker away from Steve's a couple of times as he talks. "Since, you know, Emma lives in California and there would be less, you know, legal issues to think about. It doesn't have to be permanently, we both love New York and all, but it'd be a little less full of big, bad heroes clamping around all over the place. More space, too, and safer. And I do have a house there already. It would -- yeah. What do you think?"

Steve rolls them over, suddenly, and traps Tony beneath him. He holds himself up, but leans down and touches his nose to Tony's, shifts so their foreheads touch briefly before he elevates himself slightly. He's smiling that soft, super happy, private smile he only ever makes when they're alone.

"Sounds like a great idea," Steve murmurs. "We're going to need some time for ourselves when he or she is born anyway, and smack in the middle of New York is not an ideal place, you're right. But you do know that, even if we wanted to, there is no way the others won't barge in and try to raise our baby with us, right?"

"Yeah, no, I know," Tony raises his head and bumps his nose against Steve's -- because, well, because he _can_ , mostly -- before he lies back again. "But at least if we're there and they're here, we can regulate the amount of time they spend with our baby. Also, it'll be much calmer. Not that either of is us is really the calm type, but TV told me that newborns are loud and they drool and cry. Also: _diapers_."

"Diapers," Steve agrees. He's quiet for a while, before he sighs and murmurs, "Malibu sounds good. We need to talk to Emma about when her first doctor's appointment is. I... want us to be there for her first ultrasound."

"Yeah," Tony says, because Steve didn't pose it like a question, but there was definitely a questioning inflection at the end of that sentence. "Me too, we should definitely go. I'll call her tomorrow and if I don't, you will, and if you don't, Pepper will. Calling Emma is a plan and it's foolproof."

Steve chuckles, but it turns into a yawn somehow. He kisses Tony on the nose, the side of his mouth and then his lips, before laying down beside Tony. Tony rolls onto his stomach and throws an arm across Steve's waist. 

"Good night, Cap."

"What have I told you about calling me that in bed?" Steve murmurs, tries for stern, but he's already half-asleep. 

"That I must only do it under considerably kinkier circumstances and at least one of us is tied up," Tony replies dutifully. 

Steve makes a sound that is a cross between a groan and a snort.

"Good night, Tony. _Sleep_ ," he yawns. "I'll know if you try to sneak away and not-sleep. Love you."

"Love you, too," Tony murmurs, momentarily hiding his face in the pillow, because there are times when he wonders how this is his life, and lying in bed with Captain America and being told he's loved -- and saying it in return -- is certainly one of those times. "I'll stay right here. Night."

Steve's asleep before JARVIS has even turned the light off. Tony falls asleep some time later, smiling to himself in the dark.

\---

Pepper cries when she finds out that Emma is pregnant and that they're already planning on moving to Malibu in a couple of months. She hits Tony over the head and hugs him and cries some more and calls Rhodey and puts him on speaker, so all of the Avengers plus Coulson plus Jane and Darcy, can hear Rhodey chuckle proudly -- maybe with just the hint of a wet sniffle -- and retell all the times Tony swore to never have kids. 

Rhodey says, "But you had better not make me godfather, Stark, because I am afraid of what that kid will be like. You're crazy, your tower is crazy, your robots are crazy. No offence, man, but Rogers is the only sane thing about you."

They all laugh at that, of course.

At first.

Then Steve has to say, he _has_ to ask Tony, because he doesn't think it through, he just whispers, "Hey, who _will_ we make the godparents?"

Steve had whispered it, he had, but that doesn't mean that no one heard it. Because they did, everyone heard it, and Clint raises his hand immediately and Bruce bursts out laughing.

Thor shouts, "Aye! I, too, am prepared to take on this duty!"

Jane hides her face in her hands as Darcy starts to giggle and clap her hands. She says, "It would be totally awesome to be the godmother of Iron Man and Captain America's kid, though, it really would," and wiggles her eyebrows at the happy couple, smiling expectantly. 

(Darcy is there because Darcy is Jane's ever-present plus one; where Jane is, Darcy is, and Jane is often around Thor and Thor is usually in the tower; hence Darcy's presence. Also, she has a way of wriggling her way into people's hearts and she's clever, everyone likes her. Even Coulson: they like to bond over the effectiveness of tazers.)

Pepper just raises an eyebrow, gives Tony and Steve, in turn, meaningful looks and then nods, knowing that her message has come across. 

Coulson leaves the room. Natasha sighs and follows him. 

"Steve, honey, darling," Tony mutters and buries his face and Steve's chest. " _What have you done?_ "

"I'm not sure," Steve replies, as he looks on in shock as their friends start to discuss, loudly, who deserves to be a godparent the most. "I had no -- no idea that this would happen."

Tony just shakes his head and kisses the closest part of Steve's body that he can find, before he takes a step back, hangs up on Rhodey and grabs Steve's hand. He murmurs, quietly, "Let's get out of here before they start actually asking us."

Steve nods quickly, determinedly. 

They count to three, grin excitedly at each other and run.

(They hide out in the workshop for a couple of hours, because that's the only place no one can get into without permission. Not even Clint can get in, or spy on them, without JARVIS finding out. Natasha can, because there is probably nothing she can't do, but she won't. Probably.)

\---

They save the world three times in two weeks and Emma calls them after every battle, making them promise not get hurt when she is carrying their baby.

They promise to do their best.

Emma tricks Thor and Clint into making a pinkie promise with her -- "The great oath of pinkies!" Thor booms, some time later, when he retells the story, "I shall honour it for as long as I have pinkies!" -- a promise to keep an extra eye on Steve and Tony for her. 

"I like that woman," Natasha tells Steve when they're sparring one afternoon. "She knows what she wants and she makes it happen. Her genes are exactly what your child will need," she strikes out, Steve ducks, they back away and then dive in again. Natasha adds, "Good choice."

\---

The first ultrasound appointment goes swimmingly; Steve is biting his lip and Tony can sort of tell that he's holding back tears. Tony feels shaky and weirdly weak in the knees, because this is _happening_ , this is _real_ : he's having a kid with Captain fucking America. 

(Tony can't quite get over the whole Captain America-aspect of Steve, sometimes. It's just that Tony grew up admiring him; there were the comics and the movies, not to mention that Howard never really stopped looking for Captain America. And it was one of those very few things he'd let Tony in on sometimes. _Did you know that he had five shields to choose between, and he picked the unfinished prototype? It was like love at first sight,_ and he'd tell Tony stories about the Howling Commandos and their adventures.

There aren't many happy memories Tony has of his dad, but those are probably the best ones. It's funny how Steve was one of the best parts of Tony's life, years before they even met.)

Tony and Steve can't not touch each other, so they're holding hands as the doctor spreads gel over Emma's stomach and she shiverws, giggles, and explains, "It's cold."

The doctor smiles, too, and everyone are smiling and being happy and maybe just a little worried, the walls are bright and the room is warm and everything is surreal. It strikes Tony that he is the only one in this room who isn't blonde, except the baby, because they don't know what hair colour he or she will have and this is so _surreal_ , weird, but real anyway.

Steve tugs on his hand and rolls his eyes, because he noticed that Tony's mind wandered, of course he did, Steve always notices. 

Then the doctor starts talking, Emma clears her throat loudly and Steve and Tony look at the screen. 

Tony's breath catches in his throat and Steve stills, too.

There is movement on the screen, a tiny, tiny creature is moving around, it's going to be a baby and it's theirs.

Seeing the blurry image on the dark screen suddenly makes it all shockingly real, in a way that it wasn't before, and Steve's grip on Tony's hand tightens. Tony's heart beats a little faster and it almost feels like the reactor, too, is whirring more, faster, happier.

"That's our baby," Steve whispers and his voice wavers slightly. 

Tony glances at him -- Steve's face is bright and open and hopeful and just a little bit apprehensive, but mostly happy -- and chuckles, because, yeah. It is. This is their baby. 

"It's real, that's our baby, we're going to have a baby," Steve repeats. Emma looks up at them and smiles.

"I know," Tony grins. "I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know." 

\---

A few weeks after the first appointment, Tony and Steve fly to Malibu with Pepper and Natasha, and together they decide what room should be the baby's and which colours to use that work for both boys and girls. 

They hire some workers and have the room done within a couple of days. Pepper oversees everything and when the room itself is done, she and Natasha furnish it together, while Steve and Tony stand back and attempt, once or twice, to help.

"Um, maybe we should--" Steve tries, but Natasha hushes him firmly. 

"What if we--" Tony tries, but Pepper cuts off with, "That would be all, Mr Stark."

Neither Steve nor Tony try to help again. 

\---

Pepper and Natasha fly home before Steve and Tony do, because while they trusted Natasha and Pepper with almost the entire Project: Baby Room, they want to put in the last touches themselves. 

"Of course, of course you do," Pepper says and she's smiling that smile again, the smile that almost says, "I'm so proud you finally grew up, Tony."

"Thank you, for everything," Steve says earnestly, with big eyes and a genuine, heart-poking smile. He hugs first Pepper and then Natasha, before he walks them to the door and sees them off.

When he comes back, Tony has opened a bottle of wine -- a red wine what Steve loves; the alcohol does nothing for him, but the taste is fantastic -- and is in the process of wrestling his socks off.

"Hello, soldier," he says and wiggles his eyebrows flirtatiously. "The Chinese is on its way, we have wine and the entire house to ourselves, I feel like we haven't had this much freedom in months. What do you say we shed a few layers get our vertical dancing on?"

Steve snorts but doesn't protest. The guy who delivers their food can just leave it by the door, they have plenty of time, almost, most likely.

They've eaten cold food before.

\---

Later that night, when Tony has disappeared down to the workshop, Steve goes into the baby's room and puts a framed drawing of Tony on the bedside table.

Even later, when the sun is dawning, Tony tip-toes into the room and sneaks the miniature Captain America shield into the toy drawer. 

Neither one says a word about what they did and they fly home the day after, sitting cloesly together and talking softly the entire flight. 

\---

Tony has this weird _thing_ for the contrasts between him and Steve sometimes. Just small, insignificant things that subtly show the time-related differences between them; like Steve's genuine, non-hipster use of suspenders, for example, or how he styles his hair neatly, like a soldier, but still with that forties-thing where he parts it to the side. 

Just their handwriting speaks volumes about how they grew up learning differently; Steve's letters are long, elegant, clear and in cursive. He writes with great care and no matter what he writes, it looks like it could be a snail-mail love letter, or something. Even if he's written a grocery list, Tony half-expects the paper to start with _dear insert-name_ and end with _yours truly_. Whereas Tony's handwriting is more or less the absolute opposite of that neat writing; his handwriting is unintelligible and scrabbly, with short, stocky letters. He doesn't write by hand nearly as much as Steve does and he never really writes to others. 

It's strangely nice, though. Tony may or may not have kept some of the notes that he and Steve have passed each other during really long, boring staff meeting at SHIELD; because even Captain America can get bored when a bland, nervous desk-tech person stutters through _all_ the emergency protocols. 

They're currently sitting on one of those slow, excruciating meetings. Because Steve is Steve, when he walked into the huge room with a really long table and plenty of chairs, he took a seat in the front of the room, close to where Fury's talking. Because Tony is Tony, he barely even spared a thought to _not_ sitting next to Steve -- close to Fury or not -- and so he's right there, too. It feels a bit like he's back in school, when all the seats in the back of the classroom were taken and he was forced to sit in front of the teacher. It was awful -- it's still awful -- because it means that he has to look like he's at least paying a _little_ attention to what they're talking about.

It is a _really_ slow meeting, though, and before they're even halfway through it, Tony starts sending notes to Steve.

**what up?**

Steve glances down at the paper and sighs, but he doesn't look particularly disapproving, which says a lot about how bored he must be, too.

 _Nothing,_ he taps the end of the pencil against his thigh, before adding, _How about you?_

**bored. coulson took my phone before the meeting - which, tbh, is just mean - so i'm about ready to jump out the window. do you think, if you throw me, we could actually break the glass?**

Steve looks like he's actually giving it some serious thought before he scribbles down his reply.

_Maybe, if you wore the suit. But I wouldn't try. What does "TBH" mean? I'm not quite up to speed with your lingo yet._

Tony chokes on a snort. He shakes his head and starts to scribble down his reply. Steve watches him, smiling slightly; Tony talks a lot, so naturally, when he keeps a conversation via notes, he has just as much to say -- but it takes considerably longer in text. 

**it means "to be honest". but - lingo? barton tries to teach you our modern-day vocabulary and you use the word lingo? blasphemy. from now on, i shall be teaching you instead. by the end of the week, you'll know the meaning of every acronym ever used on the internet.**

_I don't think that's quite necessary, but whatever you say._

**that's the spirit! whatever i say. good. while we're on the subject of what i say, how about i say no to harold if it's a boy. also no to jackson, carlisle and vernon. and idc what barton's taught you, we're not naming our kid obi-wan.**

_I thought you'd appreciate the pop-culture reference! No to Bastian, Atreyu and Douglas. (What does "IDC" mean?)_

**"i don't care". there is nothing wrong with douglas, and bastian and atreyu are perfectly harmless literary references. you know i love you, cap, and it's sweet with the pop-culture thing you tried, but i'd sooner name my kid kirk. or at least han solo.**

_I hope you know that any name from The Godfather is off the list of possible na_

"If the ladies on the front row would be so kind and stop passing notes in class," Fury startles Steve and Tony back to the meeting, cutting Steve off in the middle of a sentence. "Thank you for your attention and please keep your lovey-dovey eyes to yourself, the rest of us do not need to be a part of your love life. _As I was saying,_ this is something you all better remember..."

Tony tunes out again and turns to Steve, smirk widening when he sees that Steve's desperately trying -- and failing -- to keep a grin off his face. 

\---

"What are you doing here?" Clint asks, not unkindly, when he enters the kitchen an early afternoon and finds Tony at the table. 

Tony looks up from his tablet and raises an eyebrow, "You need to come down from Mount Olympus more often, Apollo. I _live_ here."

"Oh, ha ha," Clint shakes his head and grabs a carton containing chocolate cornflakes. "You're not hiding in your hive, is what I meant."

"Bruce is there," Tony explains with a shrug. Clint hops up on the counter and crosses his legs, eating right out of the carton.

"So?"

"He's asleep," Tony answers and tries not to smile to himself. He loves that Bruce trusts him enough, trusts his creations enough, to sleep down there; he's gotten into the habit of napping there, because he sleeps better there than anywhere else, apparently. Tony doesn't mind at all; he sort of likes the company, actually, because it's really pleasant when they're not both too immersed in what they're doing. It's a win-win, really.

Clint must see something on Tony's face that Tony himself wasn't aware of broadcasting, because he doesn't pry further. He just grins a little and turns his full attention to the cereal. 

It's weird and silent, but it's a good kind of silent. A companionable silence, even.

It's going so well that Tony doesn't realise that he starts thinking and planning out loud; "...and I'm going to have to make Dummy baby-proof, aren't I. Hm, maybe if I--"

"Tape cushions to him?" Clint offers. "And you should make yourself baby-proof, while you're at it. Make sure your crazy isn't contagious."

"Oh, screw you, Barton," Tony shoots back. "I am so not giving you the new bow I've been working on."

"Yes, you are," Clint sing-songs back.

"Okay, maybe I am," Tony concedes as he stands up, cradles the tablet to his chest and grabs his coffee mug. "But you won't be the godfather of my kid!"

Then he runs out of the kitchen, because it doesn't matter if Clint is just holding cereal; he can make the chocolate flavoured cornflakes lethal if he wants to. 

And it's highly possible that he wants to.

\---

They visit Emma as often as they can, and when they can't, she comes to them instead. 

Seven months into the pregnancy and it's really showing; there's the small bump on her stomach, of course, but she's gained some weight, her cheeks are flushed and she generally looks very healthy. She can't stop eating, ever, and has constant cravings for ice cream -- particularly in the flavours strawberry and banana.

Emma's also a bit like a happy drunk, except that she's, well, pregnant. 

She's currently visiting in the Tower; she arrived a few days ago and has the room just across from Steve and Tony. Pepper's taken on most of Tony's duties -- well, more than the usual, which is saying something, because she already does most of his paper work. But she's willing to work a couple of extra hours; it's worth it when she gets to hear Tony retell the adventures of being a father-to-be.

(The adventures include watching documentaries about babies, reading about them, taking a crash course in how to change diapers and inventing numerous, safe baby toys. He's also made a tiny version of Captain America's shield that he's hidden from Steve, but nothing gets past Pepper. And her eyes might have gotten a little wet when she found it.)

Coulson and Clint have taken it upon themselves to relieve the Captain of some of his work; they take turns doing paper work -- which is a first for Clint, because he rarely files his own mission reports correctly, never mind writing them -- and training the interns that Steve has taken under his wing. 

Basically, everyone makes sure that the to-be fathers have all the time they need when Emma is around.

Tony shows his gratitude by making and remaking awesome gear and weapons and anything else he can think of that someone might need. Sometimes he even wraps his gifts in a bow before inconspicuously leaving them on the kitchen counter or outside the receiver's door.

Steve bakes for them. Since waking up from his seventy-year-sleep and realising new interests, he's become a pro at baking and he makes sure that everyone gets their favourite snacks; gingerbread biscuits for Coulson, chocolate chip cookies for Thor, detailed, sweet cakes for Clint. Natasha doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, so he bakes her different kinds of bread. Bruce devours anything that has chocolate in it and loves spicy things.

Steve and Tony and Emma spend a lot of time together. They talk, eat, watch movies. Talk about the baby. Talk _at_ the baby, through Emma's stomach, because she's convinced that it can hear them. 

(Emma is also convinced that the baby is a _she_ , but no one -- except, well, Emma -- are willing to assume anything yet.)

Steve's taken to sketching more when Emma's around, because something about her baby bump always inspires him. And if he doesn't sketch, he bakes her something, too. 

Tony, on the other hand, has dusted off his old guitar. 

The story behind the guitar is fairly simple: as a child prodigy, Tony was always restless and loud and with a mind that worked too quickly and greatly for anyone -- including himself -- to keep up with. So he was taught to play the piano and then the cello and he was supposed to learn the violin, as well, but the teacher threw him out after he'd written equations all over the sheet music too many times. 

Music was a fantastic way to keep him occupied, though, so his parents ordered the butler to order the nanny to make sure that he always got new teachers that could teach him great, complicated, classical pieces. 

When Tony was about ten, he entered his rebellious phase -- which, granted, he never quite left -- and decided to learn something else entirely. So he started playing the guitar, tried some bass, moved on to electric guitar. Learned it all by himself, because tiny-Tony considered it rebellious. 

As he grew up, Tony never really had time for music, so it faded away. His interest waned, because his head was finally big enough to fit his brain; and with leaner arms and stronger legs, countless doors of possibilities opened for him. 

But now, with the pregnancy, with a child on the way, Tony realised that there's nothing he can do for the kid until it's born -- which is frustrating, because how is the baby supposed to love him if he doesn't give it something, that's how it _works_ \-- and a few weeks ago, in the middle of the night, he remembered that he still keeps a guitar in the closet.

A beautiful, acoustic guitar, made of dark wood, with soft strings. Steve doesn't know what kind of guitar it is, he just knows that it's well-used, loved and beautiful. 

So he plays music for the baby. Some AC/DC, some Iron Maiden, Saxon and Kansas and Guns'n'Roses. Every once in a while, he plays cheesy, old music from the forties; he throws in some Sinatra every now and then, some Stevie Wonder. He even manages to squeeze in some popular radio tunes. 

Steve falls, impossibly, even more in love with Tony every time he hears him sing. His heart melts when he hears Tony talk at the baby through Emma's stomach, chattering about music and machines and all of the Avengers and adventures to come. Even when Emma falls asleep, Tony stays; he just lowers his voice and plays softer tunes. 

Steve's heart feels like it's going to burst from all the warm, gooey love that floods it. It's wordlessly, mind-blowingly, breath-takingly amazing. 

(And cool and awesome and loveable and adorable and epic and heart-warming and all the good words and things and feelings, ever. Period.)

\---

Emma flies home and another month passes; they don't have time to visit her, because the villains are coming in hard and they're stubborn. The Avengers suffer through a hectic couple of weeks, but Steve and Tony and sometimes Bruce and even Coulson, make sure to call Emma and check up on her. 

It's after another long, exhausting battle that Tony and Steve sit alone in the kitchen. Bruce is passed out on the couch in Tony's workshop, Thor is wherever Jane is, Coulson is in medical with Clint -- he had a bit of a rough run-in with the fists of a couple of gorilla-built human/animal hybrids on steroids -- and Natasha is probably also there, or with Pepper. It's always one of the two. 

"Logan said that he and his guys would take on some of our duties when we're on leave," Steve murmurs and scribbles something down on the paper in front of him. He wipes a hand over his face and yawns. "So we've got them holding the fort for a couple of weeks while we're away."

"And the Fabulous Four are ready to step in, too," Tony adds as he rummages through the fridge for something to eat. "Richards looked gleeful enough when I asked him. Sometimes I want to punch his smug, little face, but I guess I'll leave that to The Thing. Or Bruce."

"Hey, be nice," Steve says, half-heartedly. 

"I _am_ ," Tony sniffs at a juice carton, wrinkles his nose and puts it back. "I haven't done it yet, have I?"

Steve just shakes his head and turns back to his paper. 

"I was thinking," Tony starts and Steve sighs, putting the pen down. "Don't look like that, I think all the time, I know, but I also say smart things when I do, so hear me out, okay? Good."

He clears his throat, "We decided on Pepper for godmother, right? Or, well, _we_ didn't decide. She did. But it was a good choice and we would've picked her anyway. My point is, that I know who should be the godfather -- and don't look at me like that, honey pie, I swear it's not Fury, I was just kidding when I said that, I would never trust him with our kid. Or anyone's kid, really, he'd just teach them to wear leather and eye patches and be mean. No one should teach our kid to be mean except us and possibly Clint, because Clint is good at that."

"Tony..." 

"Right, yeah, point," Tony sits down beside Steve. "Coulson. I mean Ag-- eh, Phil. He should be the godfather," Tony pauses briefly and clears his throat. "I'd trust him with just about anything -- just don't tell him I said that, I'll never live it down. Also! Also he loves Supernanny, he knows what to do with kids, Thor doesn't, Thor would just let the kid eat poptarts and have dear, apparently-forgiven Uncle Loki teach him or her magic and you know how I feel about magic--"

"It's a great idea," Steve cuts off, gently. He's smiling again, that private smile, the smile that is just for Tony. "I was actually thinking the same thing, I just didn't know how to bring it up."

Tony's face lights up, "Right? He's the perfect choice. He gets along with Pepper, he can protect anyone from anything and he can keep the rowdy bunch of teenage dirtbags that we are under control."

"I got that reference! I know that song," Steve grins and tries -- and fails -- to keep the pride out of his voice. "And you're right, he's got everything we're looking for in a godfather."

They sit up half the night discussing how to ask Coulson if he wants to do them that honour and whether or not that, be extension, makes Clint a step-godfather.

They fall asleep halfway through a conversation, but at least they manage to get under the covers before they take turns dozing off and waking up and picking up their conversation. It's later than either one intended, when they both just give up, huddle closer together and fall asleep. 

\---

It's _seriously_ early -- about four AM -- and Tony is actually asleep, for once, when a phone starts ringing. He realises it's Steve's phone -- his own is nowhere to be seen, but then again, it's four AM and dark and the curtains are drawn, so nothing is seen, per se -- but Steve just grunts in response to the incessant ringing, so Tony takes it upon himself to localise the noise and make it stop.

He grabs what must be the phone, because when he looks at the display it's too bright and the thing is vibrating. _Emma_ flashes over the screen and Tony chokes on nothing, because, _shit_ , this must be it, and Tony's suddenly terrified and exhilirated; she must be giving birth or something, but wait, she's not due quite yet, there's at least another week left--

"Hello?"

Emma's crying, but not the good kind, she sounds distressingly panicked -- and she's not even talking, just breathing very loudly, sniffing, like she's about to have an anxiety attack, something is _very, very wrong_ and Tony knows as much before she opens her mouth.

Emma says, "Something is-- something is wrong, with the baby, help, _help me_."

Her voice is strangled and _off_ and wrong, and Tony's shouting for JARVIS to send an ambulance to Emma's house before he knows what he's doing. He stumbles out of bed -- absently registering that Steve's inner soldier has kicked in, and he's rolled out of bed and is getting dressed without even knowing what's going on -- and struggles to get a shirt over his head as he tries to calm Emma down.

"Emma, honey, breathe," he instructs and tries to take his own advice, while he's at it. "Everything is gonna be fine, there should be an ambulance at your place any second now, trust the paramedics, they'll know what to do. Steve and I are heading your way right now, we'll be with you as soon as we can, okay? I promise, just _breathe_ , okay? With me, on three -- one, two, three, that's right, _deep_ breath now."

Tony's hands are shaking and he can't put his pants on, because nothing is as it should be right now, the world is upside-down. Steve has put two and two together and is looking faintly ill, very pale, but he follows Tony's instructions, too, breathes deep along with Emma and Tony.

"Give me the phone," he murmurs, visibly keeping himself together. This is a terrifying, bone-deep, icy fear that has struck them and it won't let go. "Get dressed and tell the others, I'll go get the car."

"I-- I think I called for JARVIS to get a chopper," Tony replies, points up to signal that there should already be someone waiting for them on the roof, then, to Emma, "Emma, sweetheart, I'm giving the phone to Steve now, I need to look decent, alright, I'll see you soon, we're on our way," and shoves the phone into Steve's hands and dives onto the floor, desperate to get going already.

Tony crawls into a pair of worn jeans, forgoes socks and runs out of the room. JARVIS turns on the lights wherever Tony is, doubtlessly waking and alerting the other Avengers. Tony picks up a random pair of shoes that are relatively likely to be Steve's, hops into sneakers that are either Pepper's or Natasha's -- he marvels, for a moment or two, at the fact that the shoes fit him, but then he wants to kick himself, because this _is not the time_ for his brain to go think-y all over the place.

Bruce is standing in the middle of the corridor, looking vaguely confused, and Pepper and Natasha are just coming out of their room; Clint hops down from god knows where; Thor, who was sleeping on the couch for whatever reason, just sits up.

They're all looking at Tony and for the first time in countless years, he feels like crying.

"Something-- the baby-- Emma called, she's going to the hospital, something's wrong," Tony tries to explain, but his usual over-flowing vocabulary is gone; his words have abandoned him. "Something is a chopper on the roof and we're going wrong, um, the other way around, I think-- I have to find Steve."

He turns around, only to walk straight into Steve's chest. He huffs out what could he a laugh, and Steve's face softens momentarily -- they ignore the others and take a moment, a short, short moment, to lean against each other. Breathe.

Then the moment is over and Tony gives Steve his shoes and then runs up the stairs, to the roof. Tony has only just reached the door by the time Steve's caught up with him, and they grab mutely for each other as they jog to the helicopter.

They sit down, wrapped as closely around each other as they can, with the limited space, and the helicopter rises. 

\---

Steve and Tony are supposed to move to the Malibu house in three days, so the flight to Emma's hopsital in Santa Monica is longer than it could have been and disgustingly nerve-wracking. They don't go by chopper the entire way; the helicopter flies them to an airport, where someone -- either JARVIS or Pepper, probably -- has arranged so that a private jet is waiting for them. 

Neither of them dares to speak, because there are too many _what ifs_ that would choke them if they were uttered out loud. They just... sit and stay closely together. It's hard, though, because they can't sit still, but they can't do anything else either; Steve tries to sketch, but he's too restless and tries to sleep instead, but fails. He gets up, paces up and down the aisles, sits down again.

Tony calls Rhodey, but hangs up. He calls Pepper, too, but hangs up before she even picks up the phone, because he doesn't know what to say and he doesn't know what he wants to hear. 

Clint texts him: **it will be fine bro tell cap to calm down we can hear him pace from here**

Tony replies: **using any kind of grammar wouldn't kill you, barton.**

Then: **and since when are we "bros"?**

There's no reply for a few minutes, then Tony gets a text from Bruce.

**I'm sorry about Clint. I don't know what he said, but Nat confiscated his phone. Keep us updated, okay? We're prepared to take the Quinjet to Santa Monica if we have to. Thor promises to keep the skies clear for you.**

Tony stares at his phone for a while. Steve sits down beside him, crowds as close as he can. They breathe together, slowly, because everything was going so good, everything was so nice and fine and -- not normal, no, never quite normal -- but everything was... reliable and happy, in a way, promising. And now it's been ripped away from under them and it's not quite at suffocating as memories of unforgiving ice or dark, closing-in caves, but something is wrong. Off. 

Tony taps on his arc reactor restlessly and wonders what will happen if he loses another part of himself. He feels like he's already running short on things that keep him together.

He glances at his phone and his fingers are trembling as he replies, **thank you. we will.**

\---

There's a car waiting for them when they step off the plane and they're at the hospital within half an hour. That time, plus the plane ride, equals too much time and it must be about four hours since Emma called. 

Steve is walking too quickly for Tony to keep up and he sort of considers just throwing Tony over his shoulder so they can reach their destination faster. 

They find the reception and Steve is asking for Emma Case, in low, serious tones, while Tony is trying to keep from jumping up and down on the spot. They get directions from a nervous, mousy-looking nurse; she looks worringly sad as she points them to the pediatrics ward -- but on the other hand, everything looks strangely worrying at the moment -- and Steve stays put for long enough to thank her before they take long, leaping, controlled strides away.

Tony can feel that something is wrong, the same way he instinctively knows that a machine isn't working right. He knows, _knows_ , deep down, in his bones, that something is not as it should be and his heart -- not even the reactor, his actual, constantly-almost-dying-heart -- is already preparing to be broken. 

Steve, on the other hand, is all tense and dangerous -- if looks could kill, Steve's doe-eyes would have made flowers wither and children cry and puppies die; he looks like he's on the warpath, basically, it's incredibly intimidating -- and the nurses and doctors who are working the night shift just back away as soon as they catch sight of him.

Shouldn't they be going to the emergency room or the surgery, or something? That's where women giving birth are supposed to be, right? The pediatrics ward is for women who have already given birth or haven't yet, but, well, if Emma's there, maybe she thought she was going to give birth and panicked and it was just a false alarm and that's why she's there, right--

"Tony," Steve says, quietly, and Tony realises he said most of that out loud. Steve's holding his hand and they've stopped moving, for just a second. The grip around Tony's hand is strong and secure and it maybe hurts just a little bit, but that's fine, it's grounding. "It's-- we don't know what's happened, but whatever it is, we'll be fine, okay. It will work out, right?"

Tony looks into the deep, blue pools of starlight and magic -- and ponies and happiness and all the good things in the world -- that are Steve's eyes, takes a deep breath and nods curtly. He says, "I love you," and doesn't really answer the question.

Steve says, "I love you, too," and pretends not to notice that Tony won't quite meet his eyes.

Then they're moving again, they walk up stairs and through corridors -- it feels like they've been walking forever, how big can this hospital be, really, does it never end -- until they reach the right ward.

There's at least three doctors there, and a handful of nurses going back and forth between different rooms. There's a lot of commotion, but when Steve and Tony arrive, everything stills, for just a moment.

Then everyone looks away, all too suddenly, and Tony's heart sinks. He's afraid to look at Steve.

Wordlessly, they grip each other's hands just a little bit tighter, and head for the room the mousy nurse told them about.

The floor is cold and checkered. The walls are baby yellow, light, and decorated with pink and purple flowers. The air is almost slightly chilly, thin. All of it is very sterile.

Emma's there.

She's half-lying on a bed, dressed in a pale blue hospital gown. Her face is pasty, her eyes red-rimmed and distant. Her blond hair hangs limply around her face and she lacks the-- healthy shine and usual liveliness. She's cradling the big bump on her stomach, but her heart is not in it.

Her voice is hoarse as she whispers, "She's dead."

Tony's hands are trembling an awful lot -- _he knew it, he knew it, he knew it_ \-- and Steve's knees are shaking so bad that is shows.

Captain America is an optimist until the day he dies, though, he believes in happy endings, so he asks, "What?"

"She's dead."

A beat, then, "What?"

"She's dead."

"No, she's not," Steve shoots back, like it's obvious, because it _is_. His baby is not dead before it's even born, he hasn't held him or her yet, hasn't watch it grow up, _his child is not even born yet_ and it's not supposed to die, ever, it's not supposed to be dead. So he repeats, "No, she's not. She can't be."

(This is not how life works, so it's not real. Old people die; soldiers die. That's how it supposed to go, not like this, this is not happening.)

Emma finally looks away from the spot on the wall that her eyes have been trained on -- possibly for hours -- and they come a little less clouded, a little less distant, at the sight of Steve and Tony, as if seeing them finally makes them real, like she was just throwing the words into thin air before.

"She is," Emma says and Steve sinks to his knees. She can't talk properly, her words get stuck halfway up her throat, but she forces herself to talk. "She's dead. The doctors don't know why. I'm--" her eyes get wet all over again and her breathing gets shallow as she chokes out, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. She's dead, inside me, I don't know-- I don't know what I did wrong, I'm so sorry."

Emma keeps talking, even as she starts sobbing in earnest, but her words are an unintelligible mess. 

Tony says _bye, bye_ to the future he was supposed to have, ignores that his hands won't stop trembling and doesn't think about the fact that _his unborn child is not-alive_. He gets down on his knees in front of Steve and pries the man's hands away from his face.

"Hey, honey, darling, breathe," Tony instructs, because Steve's face is turning blue and it's not the right shade for it to match his eyes. "Breathe with me, okay? Steve, I love you, breathe. One, two, three, _breathe_."

"She's--she's-- Tony, she's--"

"Yes, I know," Tony blinks rapidly, those are not tears in his eyes, nope, not now, he has to keep talking, because Steve seems to be having a panic attack. "I know," he repeats, wrapping his arms around Steve's shoulders and bringing him down, shushing him softly, but he doesn't really know what to say and his chest is aching, so he just says, "I know. I know, I know, I know, I know, I know."

It hurts a little more every time he says it.

\---

A doctor comes in -- a normal man with dark hair, a white coat and bags under his sad eyes -- and Steve stumbles up on his feets, leans against the wall and looks the doctor right in the eye.

Tony knows what's coming, so he closes his eyes and turns away.

Steve breathes deep through his nose and asks, because he has to ask, "Is there anything you can do?"

The doctor shakes his head, answers quietly, "No."

"Can you-- can you try and save her?" Steve tries again, desperately. "Please? I'll-- do anything, just save her, please."

"There's nothing I can do," the doctor says, sadly, he looks sad, everything about him, the air, his eyes, his posture, his white coat, it all looks sad. "She was dead before we brought her in."

The light, the last hope, in Steve's eyes go out.

\---

The doctor says that they have to remove the baby and Steve wants to be there for it; by extension, Tony has to watch, too. He's not sure whether or not he really wants to.

\---

They're lead out of Emma's room and into the surgery.

Tony realises that he doesn't want to watch, but he can't leave now.

It's way too real and _this is not happening._

\---

Steve's knees are jelly and his heart is fluttering like a worried bird that, in turn, is having a fear-induced heart attack. His hands are cold and sweaty, and the chilly air is too cold, too cold, like ice and death and ice and falling and death and death and no.

_No, no, no._

\---

They're allowed in the room, as long as they wear plastic robes and masks and wash their hands about a thousand times.

Everything is suffocating and cold and disgustingly, skin-stickingly quiet. There's a baby coming out of someone's body, there should be screaming and joy.

But it's cold and quiet and the colour of the plastic robes match Steve's eyes and Tony's arc reactor.

\---

Tony is afraid to touch Steve, but Steve is leaning against him when the baby is finally out.

It's a girl, Emma was right, it's a girl, it's a Claire, a tiny blue baby that is _silent_ and _not-screaming_ and _not-breathing_. 

Steve's breathing is erratic and shallow and Tony would worry more, if he was feeling something. Anything.

He barely even remembers to breathe, but that doesn't matter, who needs breathing, he just wants to know the colour of her eyes. 

Blue or brown or even green or grey. What about her hair? His brown or Steve and Emma's blond? A combination of dark eyes and bright hair or vice versa? Would she have freckles, would she tan easily, would she have birth marks randomly dotting her body like Tony, or blush easily like Steve? Would she look like them? Would she be as brave and optimistic and strong as Steve? Or be as stubborn and cursed with wonderful, numerous equations and numbers like Tony?

The colour of her eyes, though, right now he really just wants to know the colour of her eyes.

It's too quiet in the room and and the crushing force of the understanding, the dawning realisation that _he'll never know_ brings him to his knees. 

\---

Steve lies down and doesn't get up again in three days. 

He doesn't sleep much, because he can't -- really, he _can't_ , it's a serum thing -- but he can't bear to move either. 

So he just lies still; unreachable, quiet, cold.

Tony's chest is heavy, weighed down by the reactor and his heart and the tears that won't come; it's like his tears have all just decided to stay in chest, and behind his eyes, and stock up and weigh him down.

That's fine, though, it's good, because Tony Stark is a busy man and he doesn't have time for tears yet; he has to arrange a funeral and take care of Emma -- she was pregnant for them, despite how it ended, she threw approximately eight months of her life at them and she is going to need therapy. Tony isn't really much for therapy, not really, but he understands that it has its perks and Emma is going to need it.

While Steve is out of commission, Tony makes sure that JARVIS informs Pepper of what's happened and trusts Pepper to inform the others delicately; Tony is on a roll, he is hyped up, he's heavy but bouncing around, he doesn't trust himself to talk about-- _her_ \-- and do it properly, fairly, without causing a scene. So he lets Pepper handle that, while he does rocket science and reads books about metaphysics and builds tiny, tiny robots instead of sleeping. 

He goes through all his schematics, half-drafted ideas and blueprints about baby-safe toys and chairs and everything, and throws them away. JARVIS wisely stays out of it, because they have a deal and Tony has so far, wisely, stayed away from the liquor cabinet. 

People try to call him, but he ignores all the calls; Tony doesn't really want to talk to anyone other than JARVIS, Dummy, Butterfingers and You -- JARVIS is the only one who talks back, and even he is cautious. 

The other Avengers are coming here, he knows that, of course they are. He needs them to, but he doesn't want them to, doesn't want them to be sad, doesn't want them to pity him, doesn't what them to trigger his tears or ask him questions.

The funeral is soon, in just a few days. 

The house is quiet, unnaturally quiet, like the surgery, like the chill in the air.

Tony doesn't sleep, he runs around and builds things and is a genius and doesn't cry.

\---

It's a surprisingly small number of people who actually cry at the funeral; Tony is still too numb, still too heavy, to cry. Clint doesn't cry and neither does Natasha or Coulson or Fury.

(Tony isn't even sure what Fury is doing here. He didn't invite him.)

Pepper cries, naturally. As do Thor and Jane and Darcy and Rhodey; even stoic Maria Hill sheds a few tears. 

Emma sobs, but there are no tears streaming down her face; she has obviously actually, for real, run out of them. She's thin and pale and doesn't have a bump on her stomach, any longer, because-----

Steve cries, too. He cries like a soldier: silently, calmly, with his hands behind his back and his head tipped foward.

(Tony hasn't touched Steve once since the hospital. He's not sure why, he just -- can't.

It hurts to not be near Steve, to not touch him, and Tony feels cold. But he can't--can't--can't--)

Bruce doesn't cry, but he manages to convey his sorrow with his whole body, in a way that no one else does. It's not that he slumps much or anything like that -- it's more like everything on him, in him, near him, exudes sadness. 

Tony stands between Bruce and Coulson. Steve is on the other side of Coulson and Natasha is on the other side of Steve. The others aren't far away; everyone are standing in a bunch, closely together, near the front; pale-faced, stiff and sad.

They're all looking at the dark, shiny, small casket.

(It really is small. Petite, minuscule. Made to fit a tiny, tiny human being.)

Tony doesn't hear anything anyone says under the ceremony -- he doesn't talk either -- but afterwards, he approaches Coulson, because he has to, because there is something he cannot leave unsaid.

"I--we--" he starts quietly and clears his throat. He lifts his head and meets Steve's eyes for a moment, before looking away. "We--" he has to clear his throat again. "We were going to ask you, you know. To be the godfather."

The sharp breath is the only thing that gives Coulson away; his face is more expressionless than usual, but his shoulders are tight and he's tense. He and Clint have been keeping closer together than they usually allow themselves in public; they never stray too far from one another, let hands and arms and knees brush together, lean against each other. 

"I just thought y--" Tony starts, but Coulson cuts him off and murmurs, softly, warmly, a little brokenly, "Thank you."

Tony nods once, curtly, before he turns around and walks away.

He sits down on the wet grass by the gravestone.

Not long after, Steve sits down on the other side of the stone.

They don't speak to each other or anyone else.

\---

Tony's feelings come back online a few hours after the funeral.

He falls down on the floor, crawls under his desk and tries to hold himself together as the grief hits him, over and over and over, punches of hurt to his chest that make him rock back and forth and choke on air, because----

_No, no, no, no, no, no._

\---

Tony's sadness doesn't pass, it just transforms into something else, something more vicious. 

Steve doesn't know what to do with it.

(But on the other hand, he doesn't know what to do with anything. His hands are empty, he's restless and helpless and sad and he doesn't understand how something so little can pass away before it's even lived, before he's held her, before he's told her how much he loves her -- because he did, he does, from month one, Steve knew that he loved her, that she's his, his and Tony's and now she can't be his because--- 

And it's not right, it's unfair, it's awful and the loss makes him feel like he's drowning. He's numb, mostly, but it still hurts and he just walks around doing nothing.)

Tony tries to throw away the baby toys; he grabs an armful of stuffed animals and soft toys and is halfway out the door, when Steve apprehends him, takes all the toys back.

"You can't--" he starts, but Tony is faster.

"Why not? It's not like she's going to use them," he snarls, tightly. He's been drinking, Steve can tell. "Might as well throw it away, throw it all away, what good does it do to keep it?"

"No," Steve says, firmly, and his voice is just a little shaky. "You never kn--"

"She's not coming back, Steve!" Tony yells, suddenly furious. He stumbles a little, doesn't even attempt to cover it up. "She's never coming back! She's _dead_ , okay, dead and fucking _buried_ , she's not ever-- ever coming back."

Tony falters and for a moment, Steve thinks he's going to cry, but then Tony is talking again, in low, angry tones.

"She's not coming back and there's no use in denying it, okay, she's dead, _gone_ , forever. If you want to dwell on it, then fine. Do it, that's fine by me."

Tony spins around and stomps away.

Steve puts the stuffed animals back in Claire's room, straightens out the blanket on the bed, turns off the lights and closes the door softly.

He leans his forehead against the door and tries to pretend that he can hear any sign of life from the room.

(It's quiet.)

\---

Anger, Tony is angry, angry, so angry. 

It's red-hot anger, he's mad, he's furious, he's throwing things, neglecting Dummy, refusing to touch anyone -- he hasn't come close to Steve in days, it's driving Steve mad, because Steve needs Tony, needs Tony close and real and alive to know that it's fine, they're fine, he needs Tony's warmth, not his red-hot anger -- and Tony is so mad, so, so angry, he's drinking and he's wrecking things. 

"It was your idea to begin with!" Tony shouts and he's swaying, he's red in the face, he's angry and drunk and determinedly not-touching Steve. "This is-- this is your fault! You're the one who wanted to have kids, it was your idea. If it wasn't for you, this wouldn't have happened!"

He curses and everything is hot-red anger.

Steve doesn't even flinch. He just stands there and silently agrees, because, because, because--- bad luck follows him, people die around him, it's his fault, somehow, that Claire isn't alright, that she-- she--

Tony keeps yelling and throwing things and cursing and drinking.

He raises his hand, once, and almost, _almost_ hits Steve -- but he shudders curses and turns away instead, before he spins back.

He keeps repeating, "If it wasn't for you--"

_she wouldn't be dead_

_we wouldn't be broken_

_everything, everything, everything wouldn't hurt_

Steve just stands there and silently agrees.

\---

Tony builds things. Great, grand thingamabobs and robots and an AI, once, but then he drinks any alcoholic beverage that he can get his hands on and destroys what he built.

He has different ways of ruining his things, depending on his mood; either he picks them apart, until they're just bits of bolts and useless steel, or he wrecks them completely. Smashes with a wrench or against the floor and one time he ran some creation or another over with a car.

(The AI -- a half-hearted thing built into an old VHS-player with wheels -- whined pitifully when he smashed it against the floor. It whined until its light faded.

Tony picked it up and held it against his chest afterwards. He clung to it and cried until he fell asleep.

When he woke up the next afternoon, he disposed of it and definitely did not miss it.)

He throws glasses and bottles into walls and curls up on the couch, holds himself together, as he watches Dummy clean up the mess.

He apologises, quietly, when Dummy wheels up to him afterwards. Hates himself a bit, because nothing is right, everything hurts and he must've done something wrong, right, that's why it hurts, that's why she's not-here, gone, dead, away, passed away away away away---

Tony feels cold and hates Steve a bit, too.

(He misses Steve.)

But mostly he just feels broken.

\---

It's an early Sunday morning, when Steve and Tony wake up on opposite sides of the living room. They're both thinner than they were a few months ago and paler. They probably smell awful, because Tony doesn't remember the last time he took a shower and Steve doesn't look much better.

Steve wakes up on the kitchen floor, just a couple of steps from Claire's room. He's weak and hungry and sad and keeps glancing at Claire's door.

Tony wakes up on the ugly rug in front of the TV. He's tired and angry and surrounded by glass bottles that clink too loudly when he moves.

Tony is hungover and irritated and he's still hurting: it doesn't help that he catches Steve glancing at the door, so he snaps, "She is not going to magically appear just because you keep staring at her door, Steve. She's not there, she's never been there, so quit it."

"You can say her name, you know," Steve replies, evenly. He's got dark bags under his eyes. "She has one. We agreed on a name. If it's a girl, her name is Claire, it was your idea, her name is Claire. You can say it."

Tony grits his teeth and sits up, "You missed my point entirely."

"And you missed mine," Steve shoots back. 

Tony glares at Steve as walks to the kitchen, "What difference does it make, she's hardly going to know if I don't use her name--" 

"It does!" Steve yells, loudly, angrily. Tony freezes. "It makes a difference! It does! She existed and she was ours! Don't pretend that this isn't screwing you up, as well. She was _real_ , Tony. She has a name. Her name is Claire. Use it."

"Had," Tony grits out. " _Had_ a name. She's dead, Steve, our baby is dead. She _existed_ , past tense, she doesn't now, her name _was_ Claire!"

Tony advances on Steve, "And I am not pretending that she never existed and this _is_ screwing me up, if you stopped pretending that she's sleeping soundly in her room for just one second, then you'd notice that I am _not_ fucking _okay!_ "

"I'm, I am, I'm--" Steve flounders for a moment, before he clears his throat and shakes his head. "I _know_ ," he murmurs, quietly, sadly. "I know that she's gone. I know that she's not here, but it-- helps. It helps me to think that she is there and--"

"Then you are _delusional_ ," Tony spits. He stops a few feet away from Steve. "Stop denying that _Claire is dead_. You need to accept it, to--"

"What?" Steve asks. "Get over it? Like you have?"

" _No_ , but--" Tony tries to answer, but Steve won't have it, he continues.

"Because you are _so_ over it, that you drink booze every waking moment. You've accepted it _so_ much, you can't even use her name," Steve shakes his head and takes half a step closer to Tony. "No, I won't get over it. I don't _want_ to. What does it hurt you if I-- I pretend that she's there? Just for a few more nights?"

Tony bites his tongue and closes his eyes. Finally he mutters, "Fine. Have it your way, it's your funeral. But you'll only have yourself to blame when you wake up and realise that _she is not there._ "

Tony leaves. He practically runs to the stairs and only stumbles once on his way down to the workshop.

\---

Steve's sleeping habits are irregular and unhealthy. He sleeps too little or too much and his body doesn't like it at all. 

The serum makes it so that he _has_ to work out, has to move, because his body has too much energy. But his head is too tired, his heart doesn't want to, so he mostly just sits or lies around all day. It makes his skin feel too tight and his muscles almost ache.

Steve usually starts out in the evening by lying in his and Tony's bed.

(Tony hasn't slept in their bed in weeks and even if he did, he wouldn't go to sleep so early.)

He lies there and if he's lucky, he scores an hour worth of sleep. 

Then he gets up and walks around the house; into every room and then out again. Sometimes he takes a short walk in the backyard, before he goes in and falls asleep in either the living room or the kitchen.

Tonight, though, after the walk outside, Steve goes into Claire's room. 

He wanders around, slowly, looks closely at everything. He lets his hand glide along the patterned tapestry, fingers over the paintings on the wall and stops before the bed. He picks up the framed drawing of Tony, holds it to his chest and puts it back down.

Steve reorders the books on the shelf for the fifteenth time, before he sits down in the armchair in the corner of the room and closes his eyes.

If he tries hard enough, he can almost convince himself that he can hear a baby's light, calm breaths in there, too. 

\---

Time is measured in weeks and months, because before this, before Claire was born-but-not, weeks and months were exciting and full of expectation. 

Everything looks big, beside the baby toys and baby clothes and baby things. Everything is too big.

She never even existed, not really, but still she did, but she didn't -- and now everything is measured against her, in size and time and colour.

Nothing looks right.

\---

For every night Steve spends in Claire's room, he believes in his own lies a little more.

\---

One night, when Steve has reordered the books and made Claire's bed and rearranged the position of the army of stuffed animals too many times, he settles down before the toy drawer. 

He cracks his fingers as the ghost of a smile passes over his lips; he hums one of the lullabies his mum taught him when he was little and opens the drawer.

His eyes are immediately drawn to the circular toy in red, white and blue. 

There's a star in the middle and it looks just like his shield, except that it's child-sized.

The smile falls off of Steve's face and his hands are trembling as he picks it up; it's cold to the touch, but Steve hardly notices that -- he's too busy marvelling at the details.

He turns it around and finds a note taped to the inside of it. He recognises the hand-writing instantly; short, stocky letters and a complete disregard to capital letters. The familiarity makes his chest ache. 

The note says:

**to the stark spangled superbaby!**

**this is in honour of you through-and-through american dad** ,  
**whose weapon of choice is the best defence in the world. (literally.)**  
**i hope you'll learn from him.**

**(from your beloved papa, you'll learn how to properly celebrate.**  
**on fourth of july, your uncles and aunts won't even know what**  
**hit 'em.)**

**love you**

The note is signed off with "PAPA" in capital letters, written in red and gold. Tony's drawn little flowers and hearts and cars around the small slip of paper, and a big smiley at the very bottom.

Steve buries his face in his hands and keeps the miniature shield close. 

\--

Steve wakes up on the floor the next morning. His eyes are dry, itchy and red-rimmed. 

He holds the small shield to his chest.

The lies have crumbled together.

Claire is dead.

\---

It's been -- many months, Steve has no idea how many -- since Emma called in the middle of the night and turned their world upside down, when Steve overhears Tony playing the guitar again.

He's sitting on the bed in their room with the guitar in his arms, playing a song that is not really slow, but not fast-paced, either; somewhere in between. Tony's singing along and his voice is soft in a way that it very rarely is; and it's not angry. Tony's been angry for so long now, it seems, that Steve's almost forgotten what Tony is like when he's... not-angry.

He sounds mostly tired now, and very heart-broken, as he sings. 

Steve himself hasn't had the power of the will to do anything for about an eternity and a half, either, but he's finally started to get up. Eat. Clean. Shower. Make Tony eat. Take walks.

But the music, the music almost clears the air a little, it's a good thing-- 

\--until Steve starts to really listen.

"You're just a small bump unknown, you'll grow into your skin," Tony sings and his voice and quiet and soft and rough and full of hurt at the same time. "With a smile like hers and a dimple beneath your chin. Finger nails the size of a half grain of rice, and eyelids closed to be soon open wide -- a small bump, in four months you'll open your eyes."

Steve leans heavily against the wall. He stares at the floor and wants to walk away, but he can't--can't.

"And I'll hold you tightly, and tell you nothing but truth. If you're not inside me, I'll put my future in you," Tony sings and his throat is starting to close up, Steve can hear it, how Tony has to force the words out. "You are my one and only. And you can wrap your fingers round my thumb and hold me tight. You are my one and only, and you can wrap your fingers round my thumb and hold me tight -- and you'll be alright."

Tony misses a beat, his fingers trip over the strings, but he finds them again and soldiers on, sings like he _has_ to, like he'll fall apart if he doesn't.

"And you can lie with me, with your tiny feet, when you're half asleep, I'll leave you be. Right in front of me, for a couple weeks, so I can keep you safe."

The music slows down a little and grows impossibly softer, sadder and Tony is almost whispering the next words; "'Cause you are my one and only, you can wrap your fingers round my thumb and hold me tight."

Tony repeats the chorus again, but Steve can hardly hear it over the sound of his own, loud breathing. He's trying, desperately, to hold back his tears, but it's difficult. He puts both hands over his mouth and closes his eyes, tries not to fall apart, too.

\---

Tony cradles the guitar to his chest when the song is over. He only knows it because he heard once or twice when he looked for music to play to Emma's bump and didn't think much of it then. But when he stumbled over his guitar, again, it was the first thing came to mind and he just -- had to.

The song is good in the way it hurts; the words, they help him relieve his chest of some pain. Because he hurts, all time time, the loss, the sadness, loneliness -- it's the worst kind of pain, the kind that's impossible to ignore and demands, constantly, to be felt. Singing a tiny bit of the hurt out helps slightly, slightly. 

Tony is hoarse by the end of the song, his nose is clogged and his vision is dimmed by unshed tears and he can barely hear anything but his own, harsh breathing and the final notes of the song clinging in the air; but then, he hears something.

Harsh, familiar breathing that matches his own and smothered sounds of sniffling.

There's no mistaking who it is, it'd be obvious even if they weren't the only two people in the house.

Tony rubs a hand over his eyes and puts the guitar down. 

He can't (can't--can't-- _can't_ ) play more.

\---

Steve and Tony don't talk to each other. 

They haven't said a word to each other in weeks.

Steve doesn't go into Claire's room any longer.

Tony keeps building-drinking-destroying-drinking-notsleeping.

They both feel cold.

\---

It's by chance they meet in the kitchen an early Wednesday morning; Steve has just woken up and Tony hasn't gone to sleep yet.

They don't speak, just exchange a quick glance.

The TV in the living room suddenly switches on, and Tony frowns, "JARVIS, what--"

"It's the Avengers," Steve states and sort of answers Tony's question. 

Wordlessly, they talk to the living room and sit down on the couch, with at least two and a half feet between them.

The Avengers are on television; they seem to be fighting Doom again. He's got a new army -- again -- but there's something different about this one. It's stronger than anything they've ever seen, it's more than Doombots, they seem terrifyingly human, or alien--

"Nothing seems to be working," a panicked, frizzled reporter stutters. "Well, except, the, the Hulk, Hulk smash is a good thing, um-- wait, wait, I'm getting something -- and! Yes! We've got the Fantastic Four on the scene!"

They show a close-up of The Thing almost crashing into the Hulk and the reporter curses. A Doombot-type-thing turns his attention to the cameraman and the reporter starts screaming; Thor's face flashes before the camera, closely followed by the Torch. 

Steve and Tony notice, at the same time, that they've both leaned closer to the TV and immediately sit back.

"--the enemy seems to be slowing down somewhat," the reporter says. He suddenly breaks into a run and the cameraman yelps audibly, before running after him. "But--they--have started to, spread fire--oh! Oh! We've got witnesses placing Wolverine on the scene, too! God save the superheroes, they deserve it, they keep saving us-- _right_ , right. Um, the Human Torch and Thor seem to work together and whatever they're doing is _working_ , bless them."

The camera keeps moving around, quite unsteadily, but they manage to catch a glimpse of Hawkeye and Mr Fantastic, each one doing their thing. They obviously don't see Invisible Woman, but they get quick flash of Black Widow's fiery hair, and a moment later, a glimpse of Wolverine's claws.

Steve and Tony are benched in front of the TV until the fight is over -- it turns out The Torch and Thor were acutally the ones responsible for the fire, but it worked, well, partly, against the Doombots-type-things; The Thing and Hulk were good, too, because so far they've found nothing that cannot be obliterated by some serious smashing -- and by the time it's over, they're both strangely out of breath.

"I," Steve starts, stops, clears his throat, continues. "I wish we-- I. I miss it."

Tony opens his mouth to agree, but his mouth is too dry, so he just nods instead.

"JARVIS," Steve says. "Can you-- was anyone injured? Hawkeye looked like he was shot at more than usual, so, yeah-- can you?"

"Of course, Captain Rogers," JARVIS replies coolly. He's silent for a beat, then, "No serious injury has as of yet been reported and no alert has been set in SHIELD's medical ward."

Steve nods, and mutters, "Then it's safe to assume that everyone's okay."

Tony just nods again. He doesn't know what to do with himself, he hasn't slept in three days, but he's restless and seeing the team somehow reminded him that there's a world, a real, living, unbroken world outside these walls. 

Steve is muttering to himself about possible strategies as he walks out and-- does something outside, Tony has no idea what.

Tony just sits and stares at the black screen.

\---

Claire won't ever stop being a fresh wound. 

It's been months, many months, too many to count, but still the mere thought is like a stab; a sharp, unforgiving stabbing to his mind and chest and arms and legs, stomach, back, feet and fingers. 

She was never alive outside of the womb, he never even held her, never really knew her; but still it feels like can't remember how to breathe without her, doesn't know how to exist when she is not in existence. 

Everything hurts when she is not here.

\---

It's four thirty in the morning and Tony hasn't slept in a few days again; he's been picking apart an ancient motherboard and putting it together again. It's not particularly interesting, but it keeps him occupied.

(Tony has drafted countless designs of high heels with jets for Pepper, new bows for Clint, quicker and more ruthless knives for Natasha and and a new helmet for Thor. He has schematics for cartoon shorts for the Hulk and stronger glasses for Bruce and designed a motor-driven stroller for--

But he can't build any of it, he hasn't been able to build anything since they saw the battle, can't build properly; his hands just-- won't. He has all these ideas, but they won't come to life and he's too tired to try and force them.)

Suddenly, something vibrates and beeps for a second or so, and Tony almost shrieks at the unexpected noise.

He knows what it is, he just doesn't recognise it at first; but there is no mistaking it, on second thought: the beep came from his long neglected phone.

"The phone is in the left breast pocket of the coat that is under your desk, sir," JARVIS informs him gently.

Tony grunts something that sounds like, "Thanks," and dives under the desk; he localises the phone and then just-- stares at it. To be fair, he hasn't actually seen it in a really long time and he hasn't cared to look for it, either. 

But the noise, the vibration, turns out, sounded because Bruce has sent him a text.

Tony considers not opening it. He considers not even looking, because he misses Bruce -- he misses all the Avengers -- and it's become an ache, a burning itch that he doesn't want to scratch, because he's hurting enough already. 

He opens it anyway.

It's -- not what he expects.

It's a pitiless text, a science-related text, a friendly text. It's a normal text.

There's no hesitation behind the letters, no hidden meaning. Just a normal text, something about the speed and force of a lightning-driven chariot in relation to some old science so complicated and ridiculous it's basically magic. It is not the strangest text in Tony's inbox.

The message takes Tony aback and he tosses the phone away, away from himself, before he can think. He's _tired_ and he's hasn't felt this lonely since before the Avengers, before Pepper and Steve and Bruce and the family that the Avengers Initiative became. 

(He let it happen. He's been too angry and tired to care about anything for many months and weeks and days and months. He's let his family fall away from him and he hasn't really talked to Steve in more weeks than he dares to think about.

Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve has been alone in this, too, he's been angry at Steve, he's still angry but mostly tired, exhausted, and he misses Steve. They live in the same house, they sleep in the same bed --because Tony's moved back to their room now -- but they rarely sleep at the same time, if they sleep at all, and Tony mostly misses Steve.)

All of a sudden, Tony can't stand the silence. He tells JARVIS to put on some music, loud, but nothing to hardcore just yet. 

He wants to talk to Steve, he needs to, but doesn't know how.

He wants to be okay again, wants Steve to be okay, he wants his family back, wants to be with the Avengers again.

It's like a fire has been rekindled again and Tony is so, so tired. But he _wants_ again, he cares again, he breathes again.

He needs Steve.

But for the first time since growing to know Steve, Tony has no idea what to say or even how to act.

Tony falls asleep under the desk with the thought of Steve's warmth.

\---

Days pass, again, and Tony sleeps and wakes up and stays awake and throws the blueprints of another motor-driven baby stroller into the bin. He cries a little, sleeps some more, drinks coffee and stays awake.

Listens to music.

\---

Thor texts him, too, from Bruce's phone. It's obvious that it's Thor, because he always types in all caps.

He writes something absurd about Asgardian pets and--

Tony doesn't focus on the rest of the text, because he has an idea, he got an idea, it's a good idea, it's a great idea, brillant, really--

And it scares him silly.

\---

Late afternoon and Tony texts Bruce back. He just answers Bruce's question, because he doesn't really know what else to say, but it's a start.

\---

The idea, the plan, is to get a pet. Because it's uniting and adorable and JARVIS has about a thousand excellent arguments prepared for him.

\---

It takes a number of days for Tony to further develop Project: Maybe A Pet and, well, most of the time is spent trying not to freak out or back out. With a little encouragment from JARVIS -- more like obvious hinting and poking along with constant reminders of Steve's location -- Tony seeks Steve out on a sunny Monday afternoon.

Steve is sitting outside, with a pile of books, a sketching pad and coal. He hasn't used any of it.

His blonde hair is messy an he looks older, but not in a way that Tony can put his finger on. His eyes are still sparkly and blue and beautiful, but they, too, aren't what they used to be. They are more hollow, haunted, resigned.

Tony's chest aches. He needs to do this, needs to make Steve okay, needs to make himself okay. Needs Steve.

So he coughs awkwardly, shoves his hands into his pockets and starts talking.

"Bucky is not a good name for kids, it's downright mean, actually, is what it is; James is a great name and Bucky is a nice nickname, but not as an actual name for a kid," Tony rambles, and his hands are trembling, so he puts one over the arc reactor and taps it. "But it's a good name for a dog. Not to say that your Bucky was like a dog or anything-- but, yeah. Good name. For a dog."

Steve's voice is gone and his head is too slow to catch on immediately, so Tony clears his throat and clarifies, "I would like to get a dog. With you. Or just any pet, if you don't like dogs, we could get cats or elephants or baby seals, because no one can say no to baby seals, they are just adorable. Or maybe a tiger or a lion or we could just get a zoo, it works for me if it works for you, but pets, you know, it. I. I think it could be nice."

Steve's heart flickers alive and he realises that he can recognise Tony again, that he somehow hasn't in months. This broken, tired, thin man he's been mourning and fighting with for months hasn't really been _his_ , but now, suddenly, he is; this, this genius, this frightened, hopeful, genius man is the man Steve loves and Tony, his Tony is back, Steve can see him again. Tony's not angry, just tired, but at least he's _alive_ again. 

"I-- me too. Dog. It sounds perfect," Steve stutters out and he smiles, slightly, thinly, but he smiles. Tony's face warms and something loosens and he smiles, too, a tiny little upwards curve of his lips. "When do you want to go?"

\---

It takes them a week, in total, to find the dog they're looking for; a tiny, black, super excited labrador. He has huge, dark eyes and greets everything with a bark and a wag of his tail; he's pretty clever, for his age, and loves to sneak on pigeons and fish. They name him Bucky.

(For all that he is clever and happy, he is also a pup that doesn't know where he's allowed to pee and therefore does it everywhere. He also doesn't understand the concept of staying put and refuses to sleep anywhere but in the foot of Steve and Tony's bed.)

Bucky gives them something to do, which is good. Great, even, because with him they're always occupied and they slowly, slowly come back to themselves, to their senses. 

(Tony's plan, Project: Maybe A Pet works; it takes time, but Bucky brings them together again. It's not what it used to be, by a long shot, and they are still not-touching, but it's a start.)

Coulson lets Steve come back to the field first -- Tony would be mad, except that he knows that he's not ready, so he doesn't even fight back; Coulson looks like he's expecting a fight and when he doesn't get one, he looks sad for a second, before the usual mask slips back on -- and a couple of weeks later, Tony is allowed to fight again, too. Not much, not really, just when he's needed. 

Pepper starts calling Tony again, instead of just texting or getting her message through via JARVIS. 

Then the other Avengers start coming by the house.

Natasha and Clint take turns training Steve and Tony, separately, and getting them in shape again. Thor informs them about what's happened while they were "out of commission" and Bruce cooks for them. 

Bruce cooks for them _a lot_. Anything, everything: pizza, Chinese, Greek, Italian, and a combination of everything and dishes he makes up on the spot. Spicy, sweet, salty. He tries new things, like smoothies and milkshakes and every time he stays for a couple of days, there's always either pancakes or waffles for breakfast. He gets back into the habit of napping in Tony's workshop.

Steve starts baking again. Tony gains back some of the weight he lost. 

Bucky grows bigger, but he's still not large by any means.

Phil Coulson comes by and stays a few days, says that he's not there on business. 

He suggests, very vaguely, that maybe it would be good for Steve and Tony to move back to the Tower. They all know it's still too soon, but neither Steve nor Tony turn down the idea. 

Maria Hill comes by, too, in the company of Darcy Lewis. They stay for two days and Maria explains that they need a break and Darcy said that the house comes with a pool, so why not.

Bucky is overjoyed at all the new company and he loves _everyone_ and is happy _all the time_ and tries to share his bone with Thor, a handful of times. 

Things aren't any definition of normal, yet, but they are improving.

\---

Claire is still a wound and they'll never know what colour her eyes were supposed to be, but breathing is easier now. 

It still hurts -- because it will always hurt, there's no doubt in the world about that -- but it's not as stabbing or suffocating or nauseating any longer. 

It's a constant, grounding pain. 

\---

"We," Tony states as he sits down on the park bench beside Steve. "Are super good at raising dogs."

"That we are," Steve agrees, smiling slightly as he watches Tony throw away the stick again and Bucky excitedly leap after it. 

"I think," Steve starts, carefully. "That we'd make good parents."

Tony leans back and stares after Bucky. He nods, "Me too."

"The best, really," Steve says and looks away, smiles a little. He doesn't need to see Tony's face to know that he's smiling, too.

"Superheroes, super good dog-raisers," Tony continues. "You're super strong and I am super smart. We would have made super awesome parents."

"I guess we're just all kinds of super," Steve says with a wet chuckle that is maybe bordering on hysteric, just a little. He feels like crying, because he hasn't laughed in so long. 

Tony laughs along with him and it's a relieving laugh, relieved, still a little sad and very tired, but it's a laugh and it brings them together again. Before they know it, they're pressed up against each other, from knee to thigh to arm and shoulder, close, close, close like they haven't been in too many long, cold, draining months. 

Steve and Tony turn to glance each other at the same time, then look away and laugh again. Bucky returns with the stick again, and Steve throws it this time, farther, and Bucky looks like he could pee himself from excitement. He barks happily, and runs after the stick.

Tony keeps chuckling and Steve takes his hand, kisses him on the cheek.

Steve stays close and murmurs, into Tony's skin, "Love you."

Tony shifts and turns and leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together and whispers, "Love you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERY WARNINGS: Child death/major character death of an OC character who dies before birth, grief/mourning, heavy angst. Tell me if I should add other warnings.
> 
> So, um, after reading the comments that, in turn, had me in tears, I realised that I really do have to warn better and I felt awful for not handling this with more delicacy. HEED THE WARNINGS, please, I don't know how I can make it any clearer. When I posted the story, I had no idea how to tag the it without spoiling the plot and then didn't really occur to me that I could write my own warnings, which was incredibly stupid of me. I'm sorry.
> 
> \--and back to the original message--
> 
> Hi. Hi. So, um, how're you doing?
> 
> I, uh. To begin with, I had no idea how to tag this without spoiling the plot. I'm sorry if you came here thinking it'd be happy from beginning to end and then someone dies in the middle, because that's not fair of me, I'm sorry. I'm sorry if it's triggering, sorry if it offends, sorry if it bothers you. I just like to write.
> 
> (Basically, if you think I tagged this terribly wrong, just tell me and I'll fix it).
> 
> This was awful to write. It never ended and it was so sad and I had to look up all this weird stuff on Wikipedia. Also, I don't live in America, I've never been to America and I've never had a baby and I often write really long sentences.
> 
> The song that Tony sings is "Small Bump" by Ed Sheeran. The idea was born when Sam and I were chatting and we, somehow, came in on RDJ and Sheeran and started imagining RDJ singing Sheeran's songs. Small Bump might've come up.


End file.
